Simplification
by LIVEalittleLOVEsome
Summary: He doesn't understand what he's doing. Not now, not ever. It's only the beginning of third year, and he's already spiralling down all over again. He should be in detention, because he should have pulled a prank that should have made the entire school laugh because he should have been a trouble making, prank pulling, hilarious type of bloke. But he isn't.


_A/N: Written for the first round of __Fanfiction Tournaments__ at the HPFC._

_Thanks to __Raanah__ for doing a wonderful job at beta-reading._

* * *

He doesn't understand what he's doing. Not now, not ever. It's only the beginning of third year, and he's already spiralling down all over again. He should be in detention, because he should have pulled a prank that should have made the entire school laugh because he should have been a trouble making, prank pulling, hilarious type of bloke. But he isn't.

He's plain, old, boring Fred Weasley II: nothing compared to James Potter, Molly Wesley or even Lily Potter. They actually fit their stereotypes (and they aren't completely mental). They're perfect and pretentious and pompous and they act like they're bloody supposed to act. (Or maybe they're faking it, just like him.)

It's hard enough to pretend for all his life. It's tiring and frustrating, pretending with his family, his cousins, and his friends. Oh, his family—that _beloved_, artificial, _perfect_, mentally instable, screwed up, disastrous, _lovely _family.

It's too much sometimes. Too much for a third year like him to be worrying about, too much pressure, too many expectations—expectations that he can't live up to, will never live up to. And maybe he's being overdramatic. Life isn't _that _bad. He isn't in the middle of a war. Voldemort doesn't exist anymore. He doesn't need to worry about death eaters or waking up to a dead family. He has it easy, just like everyone tells him. (Maybe someday he'll believe it.)

Though, in a way—in a way he will never admit—he thinks that having a war in the background of his life would be easier. It would make everything easier, in fact. He wouldn't have to worry about his lacking personality. He wouldn't have to think about all those girls who _don't_ fancy him. He wouldn't need to worry about the fact that no one liked him, that no one _knew _him.

War would definitely complicate life, but it would also simplify it. The simplification is what he craves. Simplification is what he needs. It scares him how intense the feeling is.

With a little simplification, with a little pressure, his mum and dad would get along; they would have too many other things to worry about to constantly fight. They wouldn't have to argue about how his dad comes home too late, and far too drunk. His dad wouldn't have time to go to the bar; he would be fighting in the war. His mum wouldn't have time to upset Rox; she would be too worried about the war. Rox wouldn't have that horrible, demeaning boyfriend, and she wouldn't even think of running away from their screwed up family because, well, it wouldn't be screwed up anymore.

He'll never have that simple, easy life though. He knows it. He'll never have that…distraction. That's what he needs. Distraction. Disturbance. Disruption. He can't look for any of it, can't even tell anyone how much he wants it. He craves it, he needs it, and he knows he'll never have it. What mentally sane person would want chaos, commotion and confusion? So he ignores all these thoughts, pushes them to the back of his mind and pretends they don't exist. For a while, it works. It _always _works for a while. He happily (half-heartedly) pulls a few pranks with James, sneaks out of the castle, flies around on a hippogriff. It always comes out though… the thoughts. They flood him till they finally arise, gasping for air after being suffocated in the corners of his mind for so long.

It was a process, one that made him miserable. One which never allowed him infinite joy, never let him feel real happiness. He was sure no one noticed. Positive, in fact. No one really knew him, knew the thoughts that circulated in his head. He was sure his act was free of any holes, gaps, or imperfections. He was sure that he would never fail. But one day he got caught off guard.

It was because of a girl, it always was. They were only a few, simple words. The words that swiftly, speedily, summarily broke down the walls he put up so well, tore down his worn out costume, and reached out to his sad, broken heart.

It was a simple day, the day he broke down. He was coming out of Potions and the thoughts were coming again, this time with more force, with more anger, more rage. Like always, he masked his face. He thought no one noticed.

_Jenna _walked up next to him, though. She asked him how he was.

"I'm brilliant, I think I just aced that Potions exam," he told her trying a little too hard to keep the ever present (fake) smile on his face.

"No Fred, really…how are you?"

He didn't hesitate for a second, "I'm doing fine, _really_."

"Fred…"

"What?"

"Fred, you don't always have to fake a smile, you don't need to pretend everything is brilliant. You're allowed to feel pain and misery and fear. You're allowed to let it out and you're allowed to have someone listen. You don't always need to keep it bottled up, because if you do, one day you're going to burst. And, honestly, I care too much and I'm way too selfish to let you do that to yourself. I'm here, and so are numerous other people and they would gladly listen. Would gladly help. So, if you don't want to talk to me, and I'll understand why, you should talk to your sister, or James, or Rose, or Lily, or Lorcan. They worry about you, Fred. We all do."

He didn't know what to say. He was speechless. Then the tears, the sobs, broke the silence. She motioned him to the nearest empty classroom. He sat and she held him and sobbed. He sobbed like a child seeking comfort from his mum, instead of the pretty girl that he fancied. Eventually his sobs quieted, his tears slowed, and he felt better. Better than he had felt in days, in months, in years. He felt free, he felt hope. And he felt embarrassment at the fact that he just cried for Merlin know how long on _her _shoulder. He pushed the embarrassment down, though, and thanked her.

"Fred, like I said, anytime."

Then he started to talk, started to ramble and shout and spew off all the things that he could never ever think to say before. He told her about his family, his need for simplicity and chaos and normality. He finally spouted out his deranged thoughts and she _wasn't _looking at him like he was mental or insane and should be locked up. She had a look of understanding, of caring, of affection. Instantly, he felt the weight drop off his shoulder and he felt better. Felt so much better. Infinitely better.

Looking back to that day, and the days and thoughts that preceded it, he never really needed the chaos and colossal danger. He just needed what Jenna gave him: an outlet. He needed to know someone was there; he needed to be told it was okay.

He still has those thoughts, now and again. His family and his insecurities are still present. He isn't suddenly a carefree, happy, bloke. But now, as he looked out the window of the Hogwarts Express and his third year came to an end, he couldn't stop from smiling at the progress he made. At all he had accomplished that year. He wasn't miserable all the time. His cousins and his friends actually understood him, the real Fred Weasley. Not the one he pretended to be for so, so, so long.


End file.
